The Replacement
by Erin Giles
Summary: Torchwood 2 send a replacement after someone at Torchwood 3 is lost to the cause. Character Death. Janto.


**TITLE**: The Replacement  
**AUTHOR**: Erin Giles  
**RATING**: PG  
**DISCLAIMER**: Not mine, and never will be. They belong to RTD and the BBC save for my own creation of the replacement.  
**WARNINGS**: Character death.  
**SUMMARY**: Torchwood 2 send a replacement after someone at Torchwood 3 is lost to the cause.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: Lots of my info for this fic was taken from the Torchwood books, the Captain's blog on the BBCA website or the BBC website. If not it's something I made up or fans did.

* * *

He'd been dead a week when I started work. I'd been referred from Glasgow, straight out of University and recommended by Archie McAndrews who apparently ran the Glasgow branch.

I was nervous when I went for the interview but when I got a foot in the front door and laid my eyes on Myfanwy I realised later that I already had the job. None of them seemed interested in interviewing me, already had it on good authority I could tidy and file, had a degree in particle physics and the rest I could learn as I went.

The grief still hung about the hub like a cloak of death and they all visibly flinched on the first morning when I offered to make the coffee for the meeting. Toshiko suggested that maybe I could just go round the corner and pick some up because the machine was on the blink. When I investigated later though it was working fine.

All his stuff was still in the tourist office when Gwen showed me around on the first day. She didn't seem to notice though, just vaguely gestured to the office at the back, as if scared to set foot in the place. I stayed late on the first night; I couldn't work in a dead man's office.

I collected a box from the archives. I'd spent most of my day down there; been told to get myself accustomed with it and maybe give it a dust or something. There was nothing to do, the place had been left in immaculate condition.

I hesitated when I re-emerged from the archives, box in hand, unsure if this was the right thing to do, if one of the other team should maybe do it. I recalled one of the clauses in my contract; _…all personal effects of deceased employees will be seized by Torchwood…_

There was a coffee mug perched beside the computer, coffee long gone cold and milk curdled in the bottom. The words of the side of it read 'Tidy Like'. There was a small collection of books underneath the front desk that had nothing to do with local tourist spots or camping in the Brecon Beacons. He'd only just started reading 'Aberystwyth Mon Amour' and the dark haired Moulin girl Myfanwy was currently lounging in Louie Knight's office chair. The bookmark was a flyer from the cinema in town. Sweeny Todd was circled in red ink with _Owen?_ written next to it.

A collection of photo's littered the notice board in the back in amongst staff reminders and forms half filled in. Half of the forms were filled in by a scrawling hand, some boxes filled with the words, 'do it yourself tea-boy'. Other's had a more debonair hand filled in with pornographic love stories under the heading 'reason for detainment'. Some of them even had rather graphic stick figure diagrams.

The photo's smiled out at me with amusement in their eyes. I recognised Jack Harkness licking a young man's cheek as he made a face of disgust, trying to pull away. Another spoke of a drunken evening, three friends squished into the frame together; bleary eyed but unequivocally happy. I spot one of the young man and a black haired beauty sat in a park together, stuck on the edge of the photo is a faded post-it with the words, "Ianto, saw this and thought of you! Lisa xx". It tugs at my heart strings as I place it in the box with the others.

Another post-it note behind one of the notices about fire drills has a doodle of a symbol that looks remarkably like the Starbucks sign but on closer inspection contains the word's 'King Ianto's Coffee Club' underneath it another hand has scribbled, 'Join for everlasting peace and damn fine coffee' although a third party has scribbled out the words peace and coffee and replaced them with sex and Welshmen respectively.

There's more pictures of smiling people and one particular one that I don't think was ever meant for anyone's eyes apart from the employee that held my position previously. I bury it at the bottom of the box, erasing it from my memory since seeing your boss naked on your first day of work is not something you want to have as a lasting memory of that day.

I find an Ipod in one of the desk drawers, the last song to be played on it is James Morrison's "Better Man". There's quite a mix of modern music as well as 1940's dancehall music as well as a couple of random episodes of 'Sex and the City'. Next to it there's a stopwatch that's broken. I press the button a couple of times but the hand is stuck between the 24 and the 25; permanently.

There's also a scarf and a pair of gloves behind the desk. They're good old fashioned men's leather one's from Ted Baker and I resist the urge to try them on. The scarf looks well worn and loved, the Abercrombie and Fitch logo almost worn through. I find a matching hat gathering dust on one of the lower shelves.

I'm almost done when I realise what's left of this man doesn't even fill a box. It's saddening in a way but from the way my new colleagues have acted today and the things that are inside the box I know he has left a bigger part of him behind in each of them and in their hearts. It's clichéd but I know I will be walking in the shadow of this man for a long time.

"What are you still doing here?"

I almost dropped the box in fright when Jack's voice drifted out from his office on my way down to the archives.

"Just thought I'd clear out the upstairs tourist office, no one had moved anything and I didn't feel comfortable with," Jack's gaze was piercing as I shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, "I didn't think anyone would mind, I just thought I'd put it down in the archives until someone wanted it. I'm sorry if I –"

Jack waves his hand to stop me before I babbled my way into my next life.

"No, you're right, it can't stay up there forever. You work here now." Jack offered a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes before he held out his hands for the box, "I'll take them, why don't you get home."

I handed the box over without a word, turning on my heel, desperate for the comfort and confines of the small one bedroom apartment I had managed to find in the centre of Cardiff over the weekend. Something stopped me though as the cog door rolled back and I found my feet leading me back to Jack's office where he was sat at his desk with one of the pictures clutched between his hands.

I knocked hesitantly on the doorframe, because Jack's door - I was told - was never closed. He looked up at me, startled.

"Do you not have a home to go to?"

He was trying to be teasing, but it just came out bitter as I continued to stand there feeling foolish, not knowing why I had ventured back. The photo glinted in the light and I realised it was the one that had Jack licking a young man's face.

"None of you talk about him." My mouth was talking before I even knew what I was doing. "I presume it's not 'cause you hated him since I found several pictures, knick-knacks and inappropriate post-its to the contrary."

He smiled at that, and if he knew how to blush I'm sure he would.

"So I'm guessing it's because it's too painful to talk about," I swallowed slightly, my mouth suddenly dry, but I couldn't stop myself now, "You should though, you shouldn't just stop talking about him 'cause he's gone."

"Goodnight Miss. Macadam." Jack's voice was firm as his hand crumpled around the photograph and I knew I had overstepped my bounds. I bit my lip, worrying it for a moment before taking a step back towards the exit.

"I'm not his replacement Sir."

"It's Jack!" I flinched like he had physically punched me, but when I looked back at him he looked more physically beaten than I could ever have imagined, "Call me Jack," He looked up at me and there were tears in his eyes, "Please."

I nodded, "Goodnight Jack."


End file.
